Hideaway
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series, the tag for 'Simon Said', 2x5. Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Simon Said', it belongs to Eric Kripke and Ben Edlund.**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)**

* * *

The first few notes of 'I Can't Fight This Feeling' float through the air and Dean looks up. Jo steps away from the jukebox and Dean closes his eyes for a moment. That can't be good. She's sweet, he likes her a lot actually, but he notices the way she looks at him and there's just no way. Even if he wasn't with Sam, he's pretty sure making a move on her would end with a bullet buried in his thigh and Ellen still screaming at him long after pulling the trigger.

Jo saunters over with a tray of empties, swaying her hips a little more than is probably necessary, and Dean eyeballs her warily. And alright, yes, she's a pretty girl and he's a dude, so of course he's noticed her. But he's got more than he can handle already in over six feet and two hundred pounds of little brother, who has a wicked jealous streak even though he pretends he doesn't, and Dean doesn't fancy getting himself punched in the face tonight by Sam _or _Ellen.

"What?" Jo asks.

"REO Speedwagon?"

"Damn right, REO. Kevin Cronin sings it from the heart."

"He sings it from the hair," Dean corrects with a smirk. "There's a difference."

"That profile you've got Ash looking for? Your mom died the same way, didn't she? A fire in Sam's nursery?"

Dean sighs. Somehow, talking about that with her feels like talking about Sam behind his back, and Dean doesn't want to do that. "Look, Jo, it's kind of a family thing."

Jo nods. "I could help."

"I'm sure you could. But we gotta handle this one ourselves. Besides, if I ran off with you, I think your mother might kill me."

Ellen glares at him from across the bar and Dean gives her a big, fake smile.

"You're afraid of my mother?" Jo laughs.

"I think so," Dean answers, and then Sam runs in, bitch-face out like a full moon, and interrupts them.

"We have a match, we gotta go."

"Alright, Jo, see ya later," Dean says brusquely and follows his brother out the door.

* * *

"Looks like I was right," Sam says sadly as they start to walk back toward the car.

"About what?" Dean asks.

"Andy. He's a killer after all."

Dean scoffs. "Man, he's a hero. He saved his girlfriend's life. He saved _my_ life."

"Bottom line, last night he wasted somebody."

"Yeah, but he's not a foaming-at-the-mouth psycho," Dean argues. "He was pushed into that."

"Webber was pushed too, in his own way!" Sam points out. "Max Miller was pushed, hell, I was pushed by Jessica's death!"

"What's your point, Sam?"

"Right circumstances, everyone's capable of murder. Everyone. You know, maybe that's what the demon's doing! Pushing us, finding ways to break us."

Sam's had this sad puppy look on his face for almost two days now, and Dean can't take much more of it. He sort of wants to slap it off him, or even better kiss it away, but he can't do either right now, so instead he just pats him on the arm.

"Sam, we don't know _what_ the demon wants, okay? Quit worryin' about it."

"Y'know, I heard you before, Dean. When Andy made you tell the truth. You're just as scared of this as I am."

"That was mind control!" Dean protests. "That was like being roofied, man. It doesn't count."

"What?"

"No, I – I'm callin' do-over."

"What are you, seven?" Sam snaps.

"Doesn't matter, look, we just gotta keep doin' what we're doin', find that evil son of a bitch and kill it."

Sam looks like there's a lot more he wants to say, but Dean's cell phone rings and pulls him out of the conversation.

"Hello?" Dean answers.

"Dean? Is that you?"

"Ellen. What's goin' on?"

"Ash found something," she says. "Can you swing by?"

"Yeah, we'll be right there."

* * *

The drive to the Roadhouse is long, made longer because Sam still looks like he's halfway between wanting to cry and wanting to shoot something, and Dean knows how he feels. If they didn't have somewhere to be, he'd find them a motel or a rest stop or even a rarely traveled country road so he could kiss and lick and fuck all those nasty emotions right out of his little brother, because Sam was right a week ago when he said sex is how they deal with things like this. But he told Ellen they were on their way, and Sam's probably in one of those prickly moods of his where he'd freak if Dean even suggested sex right now, so he just drives. He rests his arm over the top of he bench seat, his fingers idly trailing through the hair at the back of Sam's neck, and it's a small mercy but it does seem to help, if only a little.

The second they walk through the door, Jo's face lights up, which of course Sam notices and his scowl darkens. Dean barely resists rolling his eyes. Sam's never the biggest fan of anyone who hits on Dean, regardless of who they are and whether or not they have any kind of a real shot, but it's just stupid for him to think Dean's planning on sleeping with this girl while Sam is right there in the same building, just because she's got tits and blond hair. There's no way Dean would get away with it even if he _did_ want her. Which, for the record, he doesn't. Sure, she's cute, but she's not Sam. That's all the reason Dean needs.

They sit down at the bar, Sam still looking pissed off but there's something else behind those stormy eyes too, something lost and sad that makes Dean think he'll have his work cut out for him later when they're alone to make his Sammy smile again, and Ellen hands them each a cold glass and says, "Jo, go pull up another case of beer."

"Mom," Jo starts with an eye roll, but Ellen cuts in.

"Now. Please."

She huffs about it but goes, and Ellen turns to Dean and Sam.

"So. You wanna tell me about this last hunt of yours?"

"No, not really," Dean says bluntly. It's not the nicest way to treat somebody who's offering you free beer and advice, but he's still not entirely sure how he feels about having these three new people all expecting to be part of his and Sam's life when they haven't even known them for a month. Dean doesn't need new friends. He's got Sam and he's got Bobby, and that's plenty. "No offence, just kind of a family thing."

"Not anymore." Ellen reaches down under the bar and pulls out a file folder stuffed with papers. "I got this stuff from Ash. Andrew Gallagher's house burned down on his six month birthday, just like your house. You think it was the demon both times, don't you? You think it went after Gallagher's family?"

She's talking directly to Sam, obviously having figured out which one of them she's more likely to get information out of, and Sam answers, "Yeah, we think so."

"Sam," Dean warns.

"Why?" she asks Sam.

"None of your business!" Dean says rudely.

Ellen glares. "You mind your tongue with me, boy. This isn't just _your_ war, this is _war. _Somethin' big and bad's comin' and it's comin' fast, and their side holds all the cards. Now at best, all we got is us. Together. No secrets or half truths here."

Dean sighs, still not crazy about this idea, mostly because he doesn't know how Ellen will react to everything and the only one who's allowed to call Sam a freak is Dean, but Sam glances over at him questioningly and he reluctantly nods to give his brother the okay.

"There are people out there, like Andy Gallagher, like me, and, um, we all have some kind of ability," Sam says quietly.

"Ability?"

"Yeah. A psychic ability."

Dean shakes his head even though no one's looking at him. This is going to end badly, he can feel it.

"Me, I have, um," Sam laughs colorlessly, "I have visions. Premonitions. I don't know, it's different for everybody. The demon said he had plans for people like us."

"What kinda plans?" Ellen asks.

"We don't really know for sure."

"Well these people out there, these psychics, are they dangerous?"

Ellen's frowning, and this is exactly what Dean was worried about. The last thing they need is another person confirming Sam's theories that he could turn into a killer. This woman doesn't know him, she has no idea what he's capable of or what he's not capable of. Dean knows his little brother better than he knows himself, he _knows_ who Sam is and what Sam would or wouldn't do.

"No, not _all_ of them," Dean answers with a pointed glance at Sam.

"But some are," Sam says quickly. "Some are very dangerous."

"Okay, how many of 'em are we lookin' at?"

"We've been able to track a clear pattern so far," Dean tells her. "They've all had house fires on the night of the kid's six month birthday."

"That's not true," Sam says, and Dean looks over at him.

"What?"

"Webber, or Ansen Weems or whatever his name is, I looked at his files and there was no house fire. There's nothing out of the ordinary."

Jo comes back into the room with a keg, setting it down on the counter, and Dean notices her out of the corner of his eye but his head is stuck spinning on how badly it bodes for them that the model didn't hold true with Andy's twin brother.

"Which breaks pattern," Ellen says, echoing Dean's thoughts. "So if there's any others like him, there'd be nothing in the system. No way to track 'em all down."

"And so who knows how many of them are really out there." It's a bleak conclusion to draw, and the words taste like ash on their way out of Dean's mouth.

"Jo, honey?"

"Yeah?"

"You better break out the whiskey instead."

Jo nods and moves over to the back counter where the bottles of hard liquor are, but the one she lifts up is almost empty, and with another sigh she starts back toward the backroom. Dean watches her go, for no reason in particular other then that the movement caught his eye when he looked up, but when he turns back around he's met with a fondly exasperated look on Sam's face and a downright frightening look on Ellen's.

"What?" he asks, immediately defensive.

"You interested in my daughter?" Ellen asks, an edge to her voice.

Dean pauses a moment before he answers. "I … do you want me to be interested in your daughter?" he asks warily.

Ellen huffs a little. "Well, she's a beautiful girl, I don't see why you wouldn't be. But let's get something straight right now, Casanova. Over my dead body will my little girl ever be involved with a hunter. It's a damn shitty life to live, watchin' the man you love walk out the door and never knowin' if he'll ever come back. I made my peace with it a long time ago but I'll be damned if she's gonna live the way I did. Now, I like you boys, I do, but that girl is off limits, you hear? You two keep your weapons holstered and we'll all get along just fine."

Dean's a little shocked at the unexpected tirade. He can hear Sam snickering quietly beside him, can see the shit-eating grin on his brother's face through his peripheral vision, but he keeps his eyes on Ellen and tries not to laugh himself.

"Yes ma'am," he says, as politely as he can manage.

Ellen turns her gaze on Sam, eyebrows raised.

"No, I – I wouldn't – " he splutters, obviously not realizing Ellen was addressing both of them even though she was only looking at Dean. "I mean, yes. Understood. We don't really do that anyway."

The second the words are out of Sam's mouth, he realizes what he just said and his cheeks go bright red. Dean rolls his eyes and tries very hard not to crack up and resists an extremely strong urge to lean over and bash his head into the counter.

"You don't do _what_?" Ellen asks with narrowed eyes.

Sam glances over at Dean for help, but Dean – who in addition to thinking Sam's a complete freaking moron for saying that, also finds the whole thing highly amusing – just smiles at him innocently.

"We don't, uh, date around. Much," Sam comes up with, his voice a little higher than normal, but Dean's probably the only one who notices that. "The life, y'know? Not exactly easy to meet someone when you're essentially homeless and can't tell them what you do for a living."

It's only sort of a lie, but Ellen seems to buy it. Jo walks back in with a comically large bottle of Jack Daniels before Ellen can respond, anyway, and then Ellen gets busy locating and filling shot glasses. They all toss two back and Jo's pouring them a third when Ellen pulls up a chair and leans her elbows down onto the bar.

"Tell me everything."

* * *

Dean loses track of how long they talk for, and how much booze goes down between the four of them, but it's at least a few hours and a few _too_ many shots. Maybe more. As it turns out, he doesn't hate talking about everything as much as he thought would. Ellen is smart, obviously has spent a lot of time around hunters, and in the end it feels sort of good to have everything laid out on the table and get two fresh sets of eyes looking it over. They don't exactly come to any conclusions that Dean and Sam haven't already reached in the countless hours they've spent pouring over every single detail, though, and after a while Sam's yawns are so big they're sending shudders through his entire body and Dean's pretty sure Jo's fallen asleep with her eyes still open.

"Alright, it's time for bed, kids," Ellen decides, taking a final swig of whiskey from the bottle and then spinning the cap back into place.

Jo mumbles something incoherent and sort of half waves, and shuffles out of the bar and up a set of stairs that Dean assumes lead to their bedrooms. Sam yawns again, stretching his arms up over his head, and Dean resolutely avoids looking down to catch sight of that little strip of caramel colored skin above the waist of Sam's jeans. They spend so much time just the two of them that sometimes it isn't so easy to remember that he can't always act like he could if they were alone. It's unfortunate, especially now, because a drunk Sam is usually a particularly affectionate Sam.

"Well, we'll get goin' then," Dean says, but Ellen fixes him with a hard look.

"How many drinks have you had?" she asks in a no-nonsense voice.

"I'm sensing 'too many to drive' is the answer you're looking for," Dean answers, and Sam snickers.

"Bingo. Gimme your keys."

Dean does, and she smiles a little.

"Besides, John was family, way back when. That makes you family."

"Family doesn't let family drink and drive," Sam recites, laughing at his own joke, and Dean laughs too, although it's much more at Sam than it is with him.

"If he pukes, you're cleaning it up," Ellen warns, pointing a finger at Sam.

"M'not that drunk," Sam says grumpily, while Ellen fishes a key for them out of a drawer and hands it to Dean.

"Sure you're not. C'mon, big guy. Bedtime." Dean takes Sam by the elbow and leads him away, tossing a 'G'night' at Ellen over his shoulder.

The room around him is maybe a little bit blurrier than it would be sober, but Dean isn't actually all that drunk. Sam isn't either, probably, he's just kind of a lightweight. A few glasses of water and he'll be fine, which is good because Dean isn't anywhere near ready for them to go to bed. Or, well, he's not ready for them to go to _sleep_.

"You smell good," Sam murmurs, and Dean swats him and shushes him.

"We're still within earshot, doofus."

"She probably knows anyway, after what I said," Sam points out.

"What did you say?"

"Y'know, that we _don't do that_."

"Oh." Dean snorts. "Yeah, that wasn't one of your finer moments."

"Well it's true! We don't. Right?" Sam asks, suddenly looking so worried it's sad and cute at the same time, and Dean shakes his head affectionately and squeezes Sam's arm.

"'Course not. You covered your ass pretty well, anyway, so. Doesn't matter."

"With no help from you."

"Hey, you dug your own grave on that one, dude."

The room, if it can be called that, is not much more than a shed, big enough for a double bed and a tiny bathroom. Dean thinks maybe it was a garage at one point, converted into a makeshift hotel room, but they've stayed in worse. It's clean, at least, and it's also far enough away from the main building that they probably won't have to worry about keeping their voices down, so considering the circumstances, it's perfect. A drunk Sam is also usually a loud Sam, which is mostly fantastic but it's not such a good thing when three people who know they're brothers are in eavesdropping distance.

Sam grabs him and kisses him the second they get through the door, pushing it closed behind them and pressing Dean up against it. His lips are soft and insistent against Dean's, his body big and warm and perfect, blanketing Dean's smaller frame. Dean moans and gets lost in it, lets Sam kiss him breathless and rock his thigh up into Dean's rapidly filling erection. He's dizzy from it, the taste of Sam's mouth and the feeling of his tongue petting at Dean's lips. He slides his hands up into Sam's hair, gripping it tightly to angle Sam's head and kiss him deeper, and Sam hums deep in his throat and moves in impossibly closer. Dean wants more than anything to just throw him down on the bed and take what he wants, fuck him until neither of them can see straight, but he reluctantly pulls back a little, using his grip on Sam's hair to stop him from chasing after Dean's lips again.

"Hey, whoa, slow down a minute," he says.

Sam blinks. "You – you don't wanna …?"

"No, fuck, 'course I do." Dean kisses him again to wipe the distressed look off his beautiful face and rolls his hips up into Sam's. "Feel like I don't wanna? Just think we should get you sobered up a bit first, huh? Don't want your gigantic ass passin' out on top'a me. I'd suffocate."

Sam laughs lightly, bumping his nose against Dean's and kissing him. It starts off light and innocent but it deepens quickly, and Dean groans in disappointment when he has to pull away again.

"Easy, tiger," he whispers, brushing his thumb over Sam's jaw. "C'mon, let's get you some water."

"I drank as much as you," Sam points out, only whining a little bit and letting Dean lead him to sit on the bed.

"Yeah, but I can hold my liquor." Dean goes to the bathroom and fills up a glass from the tap, takes a long swig from it, and then fills it up again and takes it over to Sam. "Drink."

Sam rolls his eyes a little but he takes the glass and drains it. Dean takes it from him and fills it up again, grabbing a bottle of Advil from his bag and handing them both back to Sam. He sits down next to him, close enough that their thighs are touching, as Sam swallows two pills and the rest of the water.

"So."

"So what?"

"So you're scared too."

Dean sighs. "Can we not do this?"

"No, it's …" Sam shrugs. "Sometimes I just don't get why you don't just tell me things like that. You don't always have to put on the brave face, y'know. Not for me."

"Sammy." Dean doesn't know where he's planning on going with that, so instead he slides his hand over to Sam's leg and squeezes it.

Sam tucks his leg up on the bed and turns towards Dean. He cups his hand around the back of Dean's neck and pulls him in for another kiss. "I just … I'm freaked out, Dean. Of what's happening and what's going to happen and just … all of it. It's just nice to know that you are too."

"Nothing's going to happen," Dean says for the millionth time. It's sort of becoming his life mission to make Sam believe it.

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do," Dean insists, kissing the corner of Sam's mouth and then running the pad of his thumb over it. "S'my job, right? Takin' care'a you, keepin' you safe."

"What if you can't?" Sam asks, his voice breaking, and Dean is so done talking about this.

"No, no way. Not right now, okay? You've had, god, for like the last two days you've just looked so damn _sad_ all the time, I can't take it anymore. All I've been wantin' to do all night is whatever it takes to make you smile again."

Sam starts to protest but Dean shuts him up by kissing him, hard, and whatever Sam may've been about to say dies in his throat. He kisses back just as enthusiastically and lets Dean nudge him back down onto the lumpy mattress, scooting upwards until his head is resting on the pillows. Dean crawls after him, lying down right on top of him and reattaching their lips, licking into the warm cavern of Sam's mouth as he rocks his hips down, getting them both re-interested in what they started by the door. He slides his tongue against Sam's and over his smooth, straight teeth. Sam hums again and slides his big hands slowly down Dean's back, stopping to cup Dean's ass and pull their bodies closer.

He's just as hard as Dean is, Dean can feel it pressing into his own throbbing length, and man, does he ever love that he can get Sam this worked up with just kissing and rubbing together. Dean's aware that to anyone else, the fact that one of the biggest thrills of his life is being able to sexually arouse his brother would be completely reasonable grounds to have him locked up for the rest of his life in the kind of prison where everyone wears white pajamas. But he loves it, loves that Sam wants him back; loves the way it makes him feel.

For a long time, they just kiss, grabby hands and insistent tongues and slow rocking together through their clothes. Dean's perfectly okay with it. Sam kisses like he does everything else – he throws his whole self into it like it's the most important thing in the world. To Dean, it kind of is. It's amazing, just like it always is between them, until Sam opens his mouth and breaks the moment.

"So, you know Jo's into you, right?" he asks.

"I've noticed, yes," Dean answers noncommittally, not ignoring Sam but not engaging him either, in case there's even a one-in-a-million chance Sam will let it go. But of course, he doesn't.

"So?"

"So what?" Dean mouths along Sam's neck, searching for those sensitive spots that might make Sam forget whatever's on his mind.

"Have you ever thought about it?"

"Thought about what?"

Sam gets a hand between them and pushes Dean back up enough so their eyes can meet, shooting him a look that says Dean better damn well know what he's talking about.

"Have I ever thought about ditching you for some chick?" Dean interprets with an eye-roll for effect. "Of course not."

"She's not just some chick, though," Sam reasons. "I mean, she'd kinda be perfect for you. She knows the life, she's around hunters all the time. And she's totally cool."

"You don't have to do that," Dean tells him.

"Do what?"

Dean exhales and rolls off Sam, lying down next to him on his side with his head propped up on his hand, resigning himself to the fact that Sam wants to talk about this and they're not going to get anywhere until Dean gives in.

"You don't have to pretend you like her. I know you don't."

"No, I … okay, I admit I don't _love_ watching her hit on you right in front of me," Sam says begrudgingly. "But, I mean, it isn't her fault. She thinks we're brothers."

"We _are_ brothers," Dean points out, and it's Sam's turn to roll his eyes.

"I'm aware of that. Stop changing the subject."

"Alright, look, I …" Dean sighs. "Yes, okay, she's cute. And she's cool, and whatever, but I don't want her like that."

"You don't?" Sam's probably trying to keep his voice even, but he can't hide the little hopeful glimmer in his eyes.

Dean shakes his head. "I mean, for starters, you heard Ellen. If I made a move on her daughter, that woman would cut my junk off and have it mounted above the bar."

Sam laughs a little, and Dean smiles at the sound of it. He smoothes the backs of his knuckles over Sam's cheek and kisses the corner of his mouth.

"And, also, what you and I have? It's good. M'not lookin' to trade you in for some schoolgirl with a crush, okay? So stop worrying."

Sam still looks unsure, but his eyes are smiling so Dean knows he got through to him. He leans down and kisses Sam, humming in his throat when Sam gets one arm around Dean's neck and the other around his waist and rolls them so he's on top of Dean. He kisses Dean fiercely, possessively almost, grinding his hips down and licking and every bit of Dean's mouth he can get to.

"I kinda like you jealous," Dean whispers, minutes later when they're forced to break apart by their annoying need for oxygen. He slips his hands just under the hem of Sam's shirt and digs his fingers into the skin over Sam's hipbones.

"Not jealous," Sam says, not at all convincingly.

"It's hot."

Sam slides his lips wetly along Dean's jawline, nipping at his earlobe and murmuring, "Yeah, well. Don't like the way she looks at you. You're fuckin' mine."

Dean moans, Sam's words and arousal-thick voice shooting right to his cock. Alright, so, he _really_ likes Sam jealous. "All yours, baby boy."

"Damn straight."

Sam spends another minute laving his tongue across Dean's neck, over his throat and up the other side, sinking his teeth lightly into the skin just under Dean's other ear. Dean shivers, pushing his hands higher up Sam's ribcage and dragging his shirt up with them. Sam's skin is fire against his palms, and suddenly Dean can't take the slow teasing anymore. He plants one foot up on the bed and flips them back over, landing with a soft puff of breath against Sam's chest and sinking his teeth hard into Sam's shoulder. The loud, broken noise Sam lets out is nothing short of filthy, and Dean has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from coming right there.

"Good thing we're way out here, huh?" Dean says, sliding his mouth over Sam's again. "We don't gotta be quiet."

Sam smiles against Dean's lips, he can feel it, and Dean breathes a tiny inward sigh of relief.

"There they are," he whispers.

"There what are?" Sam asks.

Dean lifts his hand off Sam's hip and brings it up to poke the tip of his little finger into one of Sam's dimples. "Been a while since I've seen 'em."

Sam looks up at him with a funny expression on his face, somewhere stuck between confused and happy. "You like 'em that much?"

Dean licks over the patch of skin where the other dimple would be if Sam was still smiling. He's being a little sappy about it because this is the sort of thing Sam just eats right up, but it's also the truth. Sam is just so damn beautiful when he's smiling. "Love 'em. Hate it when they go away."

Sam's eyebrows scrunch together, but his eyes are wide and shiny and full of so much emotion it's hard to look directly at, like an eclipse. He kisses Dean, soft and slow and sweet but packed with meaning, and Dean's had enough of them being fully clothed. He nips at Sam's bottom lip and then climbs off him, shrugging out of his jacket and pulling the t-shirt up over his head. Sam sits up and does the same, while Dean sheds himself of his shoes and jeans and boxers. Sam's watching him, Dean can feel it, so he goes just a little bit slower than he would otherwise and winks suggestively at his brother. Sam rolls his eyes at the cheesy move, but reaches for Dean anyway.

"Don't know how you ever managed to get yourself laid without me," Sam mutters, shaking his head like he's amused and exasperated at the same time.

Dean grins at him, trailing his fingers up Sam's bare chest and loving the little shiver Sam can't quite hold back. "Chicks with daddy issues, mainly."

Sam laughs a little in spite of himself. He could point out that if anything, _Dean's_ the one with daddy issues, but thankfully he doesn't. Once every few months or so, Sam surprises them both with his occasional ability to keep his mouth shut. Dean leans down and swirls his tongue around Sam's bellybutton, popping the button on his jeans and dragging the zipper down, brushing deliberately against Sam's trapped erection. Sam inhales sharply and Dean takes the hint, cupping his hand over it and squeezing.

"C'mon," Sam mumbles, pushing at Dean's shoulder.

Dean sits back up on his heels, hooks his thumbs under the waistband of Sam's briefs and slides his pants and underwear together down over Sam's hips. Sam wiggles a little to help the process along and together they get him naked. Little tremors of arousal shoot up and down Dean's spine at the sight of his not-so-little brother in all his glory, his massive chest heaving as his breath quickens, his gorgeous cock resting against his hip, hard and flushed and leaking like it does when Sam's really turned on. It's just as fantastic as it is _wrong_ that Dean's actually proud his brother is as impressive as he is in that department. It all fits into this backwards, complicated, twisted thing they have between them, and Dean wouldn't want it any other way.

He leans down, just briefly kissing the tip of Sam's cock and licking up and down the underside, and then he pulls away and grabs his bag to hunt for the lube. He has no patience for any kind of foreplay anymore, he just wants to be in Sam and he wants it right now. The way Sam eyes him and spreads his legs to make room for Dean says pretty clearly that's what he wants too.

Settling himself between Sam's legs, Dean flicks the cap open on the little bottle and pours some onto his fingers, slicking them up. He opens Sam up slowly, spreading his fingers gently and twisting them and pressing into Sam's prostate just to hear him gasp and watch globs of pre-come dribble onto his abdomen. Dean licks them up, drawing the head of Sam's cock into his mouth and sucking, loving the soft sigh Sam lets out. He leans on one elbow, reaching his other hand down and rubbing the pad of his thumb along the corner of Dean's mouth, and Dean sinks down a little further and lets Sam buck up into his mouth. Dean loves this side of Sam, the carnal, base, instinctual side that just chases after the pleasure his body craves. Most of the time, Sam's such a damn _good person_. He's so kind and decent and honest; he's downright respectable, like a Knight or something. But here, when it's just the two of them in the dark, all that falls away.

"Dean," he slurs. "C'mon. S'enough."

Part of Dean wants to ignore him and just keep doing what he's doing, let Sam use his mouth and dig his fingers into Sam's prostate until he loses it. But Dean's own erection is screaming at him, wanting to be incased in all that tight, wet heat, so he slides his fingers out of Sam's body and grabs the lube again, slicking his cock up while Sam smiles at him softly. It's that 'my big brother hangs the moon for me' look, and there isn't much in the world Dean loves more than that look.

He lines himself up and pushes into Sam's body, slowly even as Sam urges him to go faster. Once he's in all the way, he rocks shallowly a few times, letting Sam get used to it, and kisses the beads of sweat on Sam's forehead.

"Dean," Sam says again, sliding his hands up Dean's back and digging his blunt fingernails into the muscle. That's another thing Dean loves – that all Sam has to say is 'Dean' and they both know what he means.

"Shh," he whispers, brushing his lips over Sam's slightly open mouth. "Wanna go slow, okay? Make it last."

Sam sighs shakily but nods, even though he knows as well as Dean does that it won't. It never lasts as long as Dean would like it to with them. He had some pretty damn good stamina when Sam was in Palo Alto and Dean was trying to replace him with almost anyone who would have him. But with Sam, it's too much. Too hot and too overwhelming, and it means too much.

Sam feels amazing wrapped around him, though, so Dean tries. He slides in and out of Sam's hole, painfully slow and as deep as he can, and Sam wraps his legs around Dean's waist and moves with him. The minutes tick by, maybe hours, Dean can't be sure – he loses himself completely in Sam, in the feeling of his inner muscles clenching around Dean's cock, his hands on Dean's back, his heels digging into Dean's ass. Waves of pleasure cover him like a blanket, all his nerve endings on fire and his head swimming with how _good_ it all is.

"Dean," Sam says for the third time, just a whisper of breath, and this time he means 'feels good', and 'more', and 'love you', and a whole bunch of other things Dean's heart understands even if his brain is too distracted to work them all out.

He pushes a little harder, driving his cock into Sam's body faster, and Sam moans and rolls his hips, changing the angle and then slamming his eyes closed as Dean drives into his prostate. Even still, Dean holds out. He's sweating almost as much as Sam, and that's saying something because Sam sweats a _lot_, and his body wants to let go, but he holds back. He hits Sam's sweet spot hard, lingering on it a second before doing it again, and Sam makes these beautifully broken noises and claws at Dean's back. Finally, Dean can't control himself anymore. He pushes a hand between them to wrap around Sam's cock, sliding his hand up and down it firmly as he lets loose and pounds into Sam's body. The fire lights and catches quickly in his gut, exploding through him.

Sam comes with a groan and an unintelligible word that was probably supposed to be Dean's name, his forehead scrunched and his mouth open and eyes wide and dark and locked with Dean's, and _god_ he's beautiful like this. It doesn't take much, a few erratic thrusts, and Dean follows him – balls drawing up tight and cock emptying itself onto Sam's slick channel.

For a long time after, Dean just lies on top of Sam, probably crushing him a little but Sam doesn't seem to care. He trails his fingers lightly up and down Dean's back, his other hand scratching through Dean's sweaty hair like Dean usually does to him. He presses the occasional kiss to Dean's temple, and he keeps his legs hooked over Dean's ankles so he can't move. Sam would probably be perfectly happy to fall asleep just like this, his hole still stretched wide around Dean's softening cock, and part of Dean thinks he'd like that too but there's really nothing worse than trying to get dried come off, so he reluctantly gets up.

When his dick slips out of Sam's body, Sam hisses just slightly, and Dean frowns and kisses him sympathetically. He knows that phantom, empty feeling – knows how quickly you get used to being filled and how strange it feels at first when it goes away. He grabs a cloth from the bathroom, runs it under hot water and brings it back, wiping Sam's stomach and the insides of his thighs. Sam just smiles at him when he's done, and Dean smiles back. It's sort of outdated, but taking care of Sam makes him happy; even happier when Sam lets him.

Sam gets up enough to tug the quilt out from under himself, and Dean lays back down, Sam tossing it over both of them as he does. Dean lies on his back and Sam snuggles up against his side, his head pillowed on Dean's shoulder. Dean slides his arms around him, one around his middle and one bent up so his fingers can tangle in Sam's hair, and Sam sighs happily and closes his eyes.

"Dean?" Sam asks softly.

"Mhm?"

"I … after everything that happened on this one, with Andy and the demon's plans and everything, I just …"

"Yeah. I know," Dean promises, and he really, really does know. Sam's scared and worried and uncertain about so many things, and Dean understands it all, better than Sam thinks he does. But it's tomorrow's problem. "Sleep," he whispers, and Sam just nods.

He stays awake for a long time after Sam falls asleep, petting through his hair and watching him breathe evenly. It's silly and in the grand scheme of things it maybe isn't very important, especially considering the war everyone seems to think is on its way like a bullet train and the horrible, terrifying, bone-chilling last words their asshole of a father left for him, but in this moment, Dean's happy. So he doesn't care what anyone else would have to say about it.

* * *

When Dean wakes up, neither him or Sam have moved from the position they fell asleep in. His arm is tingling with partial numbness where Sam's head is resting on it, and his legs badly need to be stretched and untangled from Sam's, not to mention his bladder needs emptying, but he makes no effort to move. He's not sure what time it is exactly, but he's pretty sure it's still early. A bleary blink down at his little brother finds the kid still fast asleep, so Dean just smoothes the hair back from his forehead, kisses it, and then settles back in with him. He's warm and comfortable and happy, Sam wrapped up in his arms like he should be, where Dean can look after him and keep him safe. It's sort of perfect, until he happens to look up. He can't be positive, because he was never completely awake to begin with and he's almost fallen back asleep, but he thinks he might have caught a glimpse of a quick flash of blond hair at the window.

Shit.


End file.
